Third Star to the Right
by emoprincess37
Summary: Story over time of James and his relationship with the love of his life Guinevere before and after he finds out he has Rhabdomyosarcoma. Covers the time he is 24 (pre-film) to Barafungle Bay (end-film). One-shot JamesxOC. Better than blurb! Rated T for slight language


_God she is beautiful, _James thought. He ran his hand over her smooth black hair, watching as the early morning light shone over her bare skin. Guinevere stirred and turned over, worming her way deeper into his arms. James smiled and kissed her forehead, inhaling her sweet strawberry scent. _God, _he thought as he burrowed his nose into her hair, breathing in deeply, _I could lie in bed all day. _Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing her marvelous violet eyes to James' gaze.

"Good morning beautiful." He whispered, kissing the tip of her nose.

Guinevere smiled languidly, stretching out her legs and wrapping her arms tight around him. "Good morning; what time is it?" She peered over his shoulder to get a look at the clock. "It's 10.30; were you not meeting your parents for breakfast this morning?" She asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"I decided to cancel. I would rather spend the morning with you." He answered, pulling the sheet farther up around their intertwined bodies.

"James, they are your parents. You have not seen them in weeks." She chastised, sitting up.

James sighed. "I'm twenty-five; I don't have to see my parent's every day."

Guinevere rolled her eyes and pushed against James' shoulder playfully. "No, but they love you. So, get out of bed and put your clothes on." She commanded.

"Gwen, I would rather spend the morning here." He teased, running his fingers on her leg, over the sheet.

"James, just go." She insisted.

James sighed. He knew that she was being so damn insistent because her parents had died when she was young; ever since they had started dating a year ago, she had been very clear that she adored his parents. Moreover, they loved her in return; it only got annoying when she pushed him to visit them. James loved his parents, but he was a young man and he did not want to spend all of his time with them. He wanted to spend his time with Gwen, and writing. He enjoyed his bohemian lifestyle – he tried writing, and she painted while working at a gallery part-time.

They lived in a shabby one-bedroom flat, and had been for the past four months. Dating for little more than a year, James was quite sure that Gwen was the woman for him. He could still remember their first meeting, at a party his friend Bill had thrown for his girlfriend.

ɤ

_James was bored; utterly and completely bored. Bill had been dating the same woman for two years but James honestly could not be bothered to remember her name. He finished the dregs of his second beer, intending to leave the pub where Bill had thrown a party to celebrate what's-her-name getting a promotion. He gathered up his tan jacket and threw it on over his head, putting on his red wool hat and drawing up the hood. _

_James stood and paid for his drinks, and walked over to where Bill was sitting with his girlfriend. He knew his friend was unhappy with her; everyone knew it, but he was too much of a coward to break up with her. _

"_Hey mate, I'm going." He said, clapping a hand on Bill's shoulder. _

"_Oh James, the party's just got started!" His friend yelled loudly. _

_James shook his head. "I've got to be up early for work tomorrow – first day at the call center." He insisted, giving his friend a sad smile. _

"_Alright, if you must." Bill said, clapping James' hand before turning back to his girl._

_James quickly waved goodbye to Miles and Davy before heading to the pub entrance. It was then that _she _had walked in. The door opened, allowing in a cold burst of air. James shivered and looked down, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets. When he looked up, he saw a vision standing in the doorway. His mouth went dry as his mind tried to form a coherent thought as he stood staring at the woman in the pub entrance. _

_She had shoulder-length black hair, the color of a raven's feathers, and it looked just as soft, he thought. Her skin was creamy pale, what showed of it. She had full, pale pink lips and a cute button nose. When she took her jacket off and turned to face the pub, and James, he got the first sight of her mesmerizing purple eyes. At the time, James had thought she was wearing contacts. It was only later that he would find out she suffered from a gene mutation known as 'Alexandria's Genesis'. _

_James licked his lips as she hung her jacket up, her royal blue jumper highlighting every one of her features – hair, skin, and eyes. She turned and walked up to the bar, ordering a ginger ale. James quickly checked the mirror above the bar, making sure he looked fine. After giving himself the thumbs-up, he approached. _

"_Chilly out, isn't it?" He asked, holding a hand up for another beer. The bartender winked at him and chuckled. _

"_Quite chilly; then again, it is November." She pointed out, turning to look at him. _

_As she did, she quite lost her voice. Her eyes immediately flitted to his aquamarine globes, noticing their depth and intelligence. His eyes were truly the window to his soul, she thought. He certainly had a unique look, and with his hat and hoodie, he looked like a boy angel. His aquiline features stood out in the dim lighting of the pub and she noticed how different he looked from any boy she had ever seen – with his high cheekbones and deep Cupid's bow. _

"_True enough." James admitted. "I'm James." He held out his hand for a shake. _

"_Guinevere." She shook his hand, feeling the soft skin of his pianist's fingers. _

"_Guinevere." James tasted the name on his tongue for the first time, and he had never looked back. "Can I buy you a drink?" He asked. _

_At just that moment, the bartender brought over his beer and her ginger ale. _

"_I already have one." She laughed. "How about the next one?" _

"_The next one." He agreed, smiling at her pealing laughter. _

ɤ

"Besides, I have to go to work at noon." She chided him, nudging him out of bed.

"Alright, alright, I'm getting up." James gave in, holding his hands in the air. "When do you get off work?" He asked, rifling around on the floor for a clean pair of jeans.

"Six; should I expect dinner on the table?" Guinevere asked, getting out of bed herself and heading for the kitchen.

"Yeah!" James called, putting his favorite tan hoodie on. "I was going to make beans and chicken – is that all right?" He asked, walking into the kitchen and wrapping his arms around Gwen from behind.

Guinevere smiled and took a drink of her coffee. "Is that all you know how to make?"

"Yes I think it is." He admitted, kissing her cheek.

Guinevere smiled, setting her cup down and turning around in his embrace for more. His hands gripped her waist, drawing her nearer him, but never able to bring her close enough. If it were possible, he would wish they could get close enough to meld together – him and his purple-eyed lover. As their lips met in a sweet melding of souls, he imagined them in rocking chairs on the beach, holding hands as an old couple, watching great-grandchildren running through the sand.

"I've got to go if I'm going to meet them." He said gently, kissing her one last time.

"Alright." She extricated herself from his arms and smiled. "Oh, when is the annual pilgrimage to Barafungle Bay with the mates?" She asked, taking another sip of coffee.

"That's next weekend – I'm already packed, and we'll all have cell phones for emergencies. Mine will probably be off the whole time, so be warned."

"Go to breakfast." She drew him for another goodbye kiss before he left, leaving her lips tingling with the memory of him.

ɤ

James fell against the wall of the flat, his legs burning with the exhaustion of his run. They gave out from under him and he fell with a _CRASH _to the floor. He cried out at the burning pain as it hit him in full force. Never before had he experienced this pain after a run. Guinevere was currently out, at work at the gallery. She would not be home for hours and James had the dread impression that he needed to see a doctor immediately. Days before his twenty-eighth birthday, and he had to go to the damned doctor.

He reached for his cell phone and called up Davy to take him to the doctor.

ɤ

Rhabdomyosarcoma. The lump on his leg that had been there for months, the lump he had ignored, had said nothing about, was a tumor. After seeing several different doctors about it that day, somebody had finally biopsied the damn thing and they had figured out that James had a rare form of cancer that was afflicting his leg muscles.

They had referred him to several different doctors over the span of a few weeks; so far, nobody knew except Davy. He had not even told Guinevere. He did not want her to worry. However, after meeting with the doctor today he had everything to worry about. He was dying. The cancer was too far advanced to do anything about. James had maybe a year left, maybe a little more. He tried not to cry in the office when they told him; he had so much he wanted to do, so much he wanted to accomplish.

The dream of his and Gwen's grandchildren vanished before him. The doctor informed him of medicines he would be put on to ease his pain as his life degenerated into a painful mess. His leg muscles would degenerate to the point where he could walk with a cane, then barely at all, and then he would lose the use of his legs. There was no point in chemotherapy – his death was a sure thing.

On the cab ride back to his flat, James fingered the velvet box in his pocket. He had bought it right before that fateful day when he had collapsed from the pain. He had planned to propose to Gwen; he had wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Now, now, he could not. He had a year left, and how cruel it would be to make Guinevere stay and watch him turn into a shadow of himself. She did not even know he was sick – he had kept it from her.

He would leave her then; he could not ask her to stay, would not even dream of it. It would be selfish of him to ask her to stay and watch him die, just so he would not be alone. No, she should be allowed to go and live out her life with someone else who could make her happy, and give her those children and grandchildren. She deserved someone who could hold her hand on that beach, in those rockers as old people with paper skin. Because that would never be James.

When he got home, he got his suitcase and packed his clothes. His records, his toothbrush, and the few things he really owned in this world. Most of it he left to Gwen – things to remember him by. When she got home that night from work, she found James' suitcase sitting packed on the kitchen table, and James grabbing his tan hoodie from the closet.

"James?" His name on her lips a question, not understanding. Her purse slipped from her shoulder as she stood in the doorway, watching him standing there awkwardly.

"Gwen…I was hoping to leave you a note." He mumbled.

"Why?" She asked her purple eyes wide with confusion and hurt.

"I'm leaving you; I think we should see other people." He admitted his heart breaking as he said it.

"James, I don't understand." She said quietly, her voice thick with unshed tears.

"I don't want to be with you anymore Gwennie. I'm moving back home with my parents." James thrust the hoodie into his suitcase and picked it up, walking past Guinevere.

She stood there in the doorway, finally turning to watch him walk down the hall to the lift. He stared down at the floor, heart-broken, firmly believing he had just done a very bad thing. James turned back around, shuffling down the hall until he stood before her.

"Just one last kiss Gwen? For goodbye?" He begged, tears threatening to spill forth.

Guinevere nodded her head, unable to speak. If she did, she knew she would cry. She did not understand why James was leaving suddenly, but she did want this one last piece of him, if he was willing to give it. She loved him.

As their lips met for the final time, it expressed everything that he was unable to say. That he truly loved her, and wanted to be with her – but he could not. He would not be selfish in his final stretch of life – but he could be selfish now. The palms of his hands pressed flat against her back, pushing her against him; one last time he could feel his Gwennie this close before he left her forever, to be unburdened by his illness. The moments they stood in the hall seemed to last a lifetime, and indeed James wished it could have been; all the moments they could have had flashed before his eyes, and brought tears to them. He had so desperately wanted this life with her.

"Goodbye Gwen." He whispered, pressing his lips firmly against her temple. _I love you, _he thought. _More than anything, and above all else, I love you. _

But he did not say it aloud. James turned back around and walked to the lift; he picked up his suitcase and got in, never turning back around to see the tears spilling forth from his purple-eyed lover's eyes as she mourned the loss of her love. The last time James saw her in person.

ɤ

So James went to Barafungle Bay; he took his best mates Davy, Miles, and Bill, right after his twenty-ninth birthday. He knew that he had just a little time left, and he wanted to make the most of it. The bay had been his favorite spot in all the world and he wanted to see it one last time. More than anything, he wanted to die there. He needed to say goodbye to the people who meant the most to him in the world. He had already said goodbye to Guinevere.

On his last day alive on this earth, he would tell Davy where to find the engagement ring and a letter, with instructions to give them to Gwen. It would explain everything to her because James realized that she deserved that much.

_God let her forgive me._

The fireworks burst above, filling the night sky with their vibrant color. James smiled as his friends ran around, lighting them up for him. They wanted to make his last days happy; they had no idea what he had planned for Barafungle. As the oranges and reds exploded over his vision, he thought of her bright eyes. He held his hand up, viewing the exploding firelights through his splayed fingers. As he did, he thought of how many times his fingers had run over her bare skin.

James closed his eyes, inhaling, almost able to smell the strawberry scent of her hair again. God, what he would not give to be buried underneath a tent of sheets with her as he explored her for the hundredth time. Her hands fisted in his hair as she cried out his name came back to him, forcing him to open his eyes so he might forget.

The soft brush of the grass against his exposed ankle reminded him of the year she had joined them on their trip; the boys had loved her. How many times had they raced over the grassy knolls to see how could get to which hill fastest? When they had reached Barafungle they had all gone swimming, and played Frisbee and jus _enjoyed _themselves.

And in James and Guinevere's tent, set far away from the others (who had insisted upon this point), he remembered pressing his fingers against the knots of her spine and running his hand down the back of her thighs.

James exhaled forcefully, bringing himself back to the here and now. There was nothing that could be done about it now; he had made his choice to leave her and let her be happy somewhere, and with someone, else. All he could do now was enjoy himself with his best mates. James patted his pants pocket, making sure the picture of him and Gwen was buried inside. He wanted it to go with him when he died. 

ɤ

Davy fingered the red wool cap as he stood outside her door. It had been two days since James had died – two days since they had come back from the bay and told his parents. His funeral was another two days from now, and he had just found James' letter for Gwen. Of course he had to deliver it right away – she deserved whatever it was he had left for her.

"Davy?" Guinevere looked confused as she opened the door. "What are you doing here?"

Davy cleared his throat as the tears threatened again. "It's James – he's – he's dead."

All the color left her cheeks as she grabbed the doorway for support and shook her head. "You're lying – tell me the truth Davy."

"I'm so sorry Gwen – James was sick; he had cancer."

Gwen let out a strangled cry as she covered her mouth with a delicate hand, disbelieving.

"He – he left this for you. Here." Davy held out the red wool hat, and an envelope.

Gwen shook her head as she reached out a shaky hand to take it. Davy turned to leave when her voice stopped him.

"When did he – die?" She asked.

"Two days ago at Barafungle." He answered without turning back around. He could not stand seeing someone else's grief when he was still wallowing in the black pit that was his own.

Guinevere nodded her head and shut her door, still unable to believe that James was gone. She sat down at her kitchen table, staring at the hat he had so often worn. He had been wearing it when they had met. She ran her fingers over it and felt something tucked into the folded brim. She put her fingers into the opening and pulled out a ring – a simple silver-white band with a one-carat diamond. A choked sob escaped her throat as she held it out.

With shaky fingers, Gwen grabbed her letter opener and tore open the envelope, pages in James' scratchy scrawl tumbling out. Calming herself down enough to hold it up, Guinevere read the last thing James ever wrote.

"My dearest Guinevere,

I really am sorry that I never told you. I suppose I should start with saying that I had Rhabdomyosarcoma. It is a rare form of cancer, and it attacked my leg muscles. Near the end now, I can barely walk on my own without help from one of the boys. I am leaving tomorrow morning for Barafungle Bay with the boys, and I have no intention of coming back so now is the time to tell you everything I could not say.

I love you, so much and so dearly. If Davy has been a good messenger than he should have delivered the hat – in the brim is a ring. I bought it right before I found out I had cancer. I was going to propose to you. I found out I was dying before I could. And silly me thought, 'why would she marry someone who's dying?' I thought I would be better off sending you away, severing all ties with you. I did not want you to watch me die. Now I wish I had never left you because I have had a very lonely year.

Still, a part of me is glad for it. You have not had to see me sick and high on the morphine I must constantly take. The James you remember was healthy, and still had the use of his legs. As you can probably tell, I found out I was dying while we were together. It took a month of proper testing to diagnose me with Rhabdomyosarcoma, and the whole time I was able to convince you all I was healthy. The only one who knew was Davy. Good old Davy, always there for me. He's been my caretaker this past year and he has been good to me. Enough about him though.

I would like to say again that I am very sorry for not telling you; I wanted you to move on and find happiness with someone else, not a broken man. Before I got sick, I imagined our lives together. I used to have a happy vision of us old and holding hands, watching our great-grandchildren play on the beach. We would have lived on the beach when we were old and senile.

I hope you did move on, and become happy. I wish you a great, long life Gwen. But another part of me hopes that there is a part of you that will never get over me. I suppose that is the cancer talking – I want to be remembered. I am dying early, but the rest of the world is moving on and that terrifies me. I will always remember you. Even now I have that picture of the two of us in my pocket – I intend to die with it in my pocket at Barafungle; it will mean you were with me until the very end. When I swim out into the sea and go under, the burning saltwater entering my lungs, I will think of you. I will think of the fact that I am feeling something other than pain in so long, and I will think of you my Gwennie.

If you are not with someone right now, wear my ring. Wear it and I will see it. You remember that conversation we had, three years ago, when we talked about dying; you said that you hoped we became stars in the vast night sky. Well, I am a star Gwen. I'm the third star on the right and straight on 'till morning. Look up at the sky at me and see me burning for you.

So, Guinevere, I raise a morphine toast to you. And when it's my birthday – should you remember it, remember that you were loved by me and you made my life a happy one. And there's no tragedy in that.

Love,

Your Dearest James"

Tears streamed forth and spilled down Guinevere's alabaster cheeks as she slipped the ring onto her left ring finger. No, there had never been anyone else after James, and there never would be. He had been the love of her life and without him she had been completely lost. Reading his letter and learning that he had suffered from cancer, and thought she would be better off not being with him, she knew she had fallen in love with an idiot. Gwen would give anything to be able to go back and spend that last year with him – to take that trip to Barafungle Bay with him.

As it was, she could not. The love of her life was dead and she was left feeling hollow, an empty shell. Guinevere doubted if she would ever get over it. She too had imagined their life together – his breakup had been a blow to her heart. Now that she knew the reason behind it, she felt like curling up and sobbing, letting herself die of neglect. However, that would be far too slow.

Gwen put the red wool hat on, and looked down at the ring on her finger. It could have been there for a year longer, had he told her. Or if God had chosen to be a little kinder. Gwen walked into the bathroom and grabbed the bottle of sleeping pills she kept there. She weighted it in her hand, her mind clouded by sorrow. Guinevere pulled back the curtains from the window and looked out at the starry night sky.

"Third star on the right and straight on 'till morning." She whispered, clutching the bottle tightly in her hand.

A copy of the picture he had mentioned was in the corner of her bathroom mirror. On that first night they had met, he had asked the bartender to take a picture of them, in case he lost her number and needed to ask the entire world where she was. James' arm was draped casually around her shoulder, but neither of them was looking at the camera. They were looking at each other; James grinning from ear to ear, and she smiling shyly.

After that picture had been taken he had walked her outside and had tried to lengthen their time together, even though he had gotten her number in the pub.

"_I can't wait to call you." He said with a laugh, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Go to dinner with me tomorrow." He blurted out. _

_Guinevere looked up, the slight wind rustling her hair. James reached out a hand to brush it behind her ear. She caught her hand in his, leaving their fingers intertwined and resting on her cheek. "OK." She answered. _

_James chuckled nervously and smiled. "Can I – can I kiss you?" He asked. _

_Gwen laughed and nodded her head. James bent his head down and pressed his mouth gently against hers. It felt like fireworks exploding behind their eyes, and took their breath away. With a last lingering press of his lips against hers, James stepped back. _

"_I'll call you with a time." He yelled after her, as he walked backwards down the sidewalk. _

"_Alright!" She yelled, waving goodbye. _

_Guinevere smiled and pressed her fingers against her lips; his mouth had tasted like forever. _

Gwen's lips formed a tight smile as she uncapped the bottle, her eyes focusing on the picture in the mirror.

"With you until the end." She whispered. "Love, I'm coming home to Neverland."


End file.
